I'm entering a deep funk.

It has something to do with the move, I'm sure, but it feels like more than that. I'm not feeling at all myself, and I don't feel able to cope with things that ordinarily wouldn't throw me much at all. Eric and I got into a fight today, for instance, and instead of holding my own until we were able to resolve it, I felt myself just wilt and collapse inside. I felt lower than the smallest crumble of dirt; I deserved every sharp word he gave to me.

I spent yesterday cooking up a test for today's piano class. It's been something of a class of attrition; even though the students were made fully aware that attendance and participation were to be forty percent of their grade, class attendance has been - well, typical for a Saturday morning elective class. Today? Nobody showed up. Not one. I sat there for an hour, grading papers, and then I left. I've never felt so humiliated in my life.

Alysia, outraged on my behalf, thought I should email the class and give them my phone number, saying that if they were going to show up in the future, they should call me; otherwise, I wouldn't bother, either. I don't know that I could do that, but I feel as though I should do something. Right now, though, a little part of me keeps whispering that if I was any good at this teaching business, my students would want to show up for my classes. I can't shake the feeling that this is my fault. I feel worthless.

I haven't cried. I feel like hiding my face from the world more than doing that.

It's not really shaping up to be a good birthday at all for me this Tuesday. Happy twenty-eight to me; I feel about fifty.

The move itself isn't working to help me feel better. Even though I'm consoling myself a bit by finding interesting houses in Wisconsin, the fact remains that we have a number of hoops through which we must jump before reaching that point, and some of those hoops are on fire. We had two realtors come to the house on Thursday for us to interview, and neither was particularly optimistic about our odds of selling this house easily. Apparently, the economic problems have finally hit the Toledo real estate market, and nobody is looking to buy.

This is a huge issue. We have almost no equity in this house, having bought it with complete financing less than four months ago, and our only real goal here is to not lose money on the sale. Even doing that may be difficult. One agent advised that we ask Eric's company if they'd be willing to make up the difference if it meant being able to sell the house more quickly. We're still waiting on an answer about that.

In the meantime, the relocation company sent over a pest inspector as part of their service. We were expecting no difficulty; after all, we just had this place inspected a few months ago, and my dad, who worked for almost two decades as a pest inspector, also gave this place a green light.

The new guy felt otherwise. He saw the same spot both the previous inspector and my dad did, the one where termites had been before treatment seven years ago, and since he couldn't decide for certain whether the spot was inactive, he marked it "active" on his form. He also found what he thought was an infestation of Powder Post Beetles.

My dad swore when I told him. "This guys just looking to sell services," he said. "I saw no such infestation, and those beetles would be dormant right now, not starting new colonies." We think that the "fresh powder" the new guy claims to have seen was actually concrete dust. Naturally, we're having a second inspection done.

Just more headaches along the way, I suppose. Eric is stressed out of his mind, horridly afraid that we're going to lose our shirts in this whole mess. I'm not really in a position right now to be the strong one, either. I just want to crawl into bed and sleep until it's time to wake up in our new home.

There were a few highlights in my day, at least. Eric brought me home a dozen roses from the store this evening, both for Sweetest Day and to cheer me up a bit. It worked, at least a little. What helped more was that he arrived home from the store just in time to witness Sam pooping on the potty for the very first time.

I don't delude myself into thinking that he's on the road to being out of diapers full-time. Honestly, I don't even know how I'm going to begin getting him to pee in the potty; he doesn't give any signals at all about that. Tonight, I saw him begin his "poo-poo dance," and I halfheartedly asked him if he wanted to do it on the potty instead. I was as surprised as anybody when he echoed, "Potty."

As soon as he was done (and crying, "Messy!" when he looked into the potty), I bundled him up and took him to the toy store for a "plane like Zach's". We couldn't find one just like it, but he got this one, which he adores. He's sleeping with it tucked under his arm as I type. I know, I know - extrinsic rewards aren't a good idea. I just felt like he really deserved a treat tonight; we've all been stressed lately, I think.

Watching him play with that plane was one of the only things that made this day worth the waking up, I think.